Drilled (Hard ‘n Dirty) from Ava Sinclair.

Available Now

or FREE on Kindle Unlimited

I do find myself wondering about Cal Beaumont, however. When I first saw him, I’d pegged him as Latin with his dark good looks. And that body. Men back home spend hours at the gym for a look that he wears naturally. I had watched him remove the tire, admiring the back muscles visible through his shirt, his corded forearms. And those hands. I have a thing about men’s hands. I always look at them first. Most of the ones I look at are neat and soft. Cal Beaumont’s had visible callouses. Big hands. Hard hands. The hands of a working man.

“Go on,” he’d said when he’d directed me to the truck. It wasn’t a request. It was a command. His voice was deep and authoritative. What would he have thought if I’d told him then and there that I was the company’s new spokesman? What would he have thought if I’d told him what he’d said made me soak my panties?

Part of being the perfect little Texas socialite has meant dating acceptable men with old money pedigrees. Even though my father is on his third wife, he’s keen on advising me on men with First Husband potential. I say “first” because I don’t know what a healthy marriage looks like. My father has always married for appearances. He expects me to marry for money and social standing, just like my mother and his other two wives did.

Regular men? Men without trust funds and country club memberships? They’re not even on the menu. In my world, size only matters if we’re talking about bank accounts. Big muscular men with big, dirty hands are non-starters.

Still, I can’t help but to imagine what it would be like to be a regular woman with a regular guy. Sex has always bored me to tears. I’ve faked every orgasm except the ones I’ve given myself, and none of my pedigreed lovers even knew it.

I can still see him in my mind’s eye, his sweaty shirt tight across his broad chest. What would it be like to have those roughed calloused hands sliding under my bra? I reach over and turn down the air conditioner, blaming the cold air for my suddenly hardened nipples.

Iris Tremaine is rich, sexy, beautiful, and way above my pay grade. But that’s not about to stop me.

The attraction is mutual and intense. Iris has never been with a man like me, a man who overwhelms her, a man who says and does things to her that her pedigreed boyfriends never dreamed of.

If her oil baron father finds out, losing my job will be the least of my worries. Roger Tremaine will never accept the thought of a common roustabout putting big, dirty hands on his little princess.

When Iris gets pulled into a plan to cover up the company’s poor safety record, she needs my help to expose the truth. Getting involved raises the stakes for both of us. When it comes down losing her inheritance or the rough love of the only man who’s ever given her real pleasure, which will Iris choose?

Variety is the spice of life and Ava Sinclair writes a little something for everyone, from dark romance to menage to kinky AF age play. But the one thing that is consistent in her books are strong storylines, alpha males, and strong women whose hearts and bodies aren’t given up without a fight.

Ava lives in southern Virginia, where she enjoys hoarding books, hiking, running, spoiling her cats, and spending time with her Eurasian eagle owl, Lucius.

Drilled (Hard ‘n Dirty) from Ava Sinclair.

Available Now

or FREE on Kindle Unlimited

“Do you want me to fuck you?” His voice is deep and warm in my ear, a molten growl. “If you want it, you have to say so.”

I can smell the musk of my arousal on his hot breath. His chest is slick and hard against my back.

I can still walk away. There’s still time. He’s giving me an out. I can feel his strength, but also his restraint. I feel something else, too- the sharp stab of shame at how deliciously filthy it feels to have the spike of his cock pressing into my ass through his pants. The fabric is all that separates me from the feel of him thrusting into my drenched pussy, from being claimed by a man I’ve only just a met, a man from a world so different than mine. I feel like a fawn in a tiger’s grip.

Do you want me to consume you? The tiger is asking.

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, please.”

I expect him to take me from behind. I hope he will. But he is going to make me face what I’m asking for, to face him. Cal rises from the bed, turning me around. His eyes command me to lie down. I obey, reveling in his dominance. I look down at my own body. There’s a smudge of grease on my side. The insides of my thighs are slick. The room smells like sex. I’m still wearing my pumps. Who knew daddy’s girl could be such a little slut. I almost climax again from the thought of the change that’s come over me.

Cal is beside the bed, those big hands slowly undoing the clasp of his belt. I’m mesmerized by those hands, by what they have already done. My ass aches slightly from their squeeze; my nipples tingle as if those calloused thumbs are still abrading them.

He pushes his pants and briefs down together. His cock, released from its confines, springs up in freedom amid a thicket of dark curls. It’s huge like the rest of him, the knobby head crowned with a drop of pre-cum, the length mapped with a network of thick raised veins. My lips part, as I imagine him holding my hair and shoving that beautiful cock in the back of my throat as I whimper in submission.

What is wrong with me? I’ve always given head as a perfunctory act, but I want to taste Cal like he tasted me, want to know if his flavor is as salty and earthy as I imagine it would be. I don’t get the chance, though. As soon as Cal steps out of his pants, he lowers himself over me, and I feel the power of his naked body against mine. I’m delicate next to him, my skin slick with sweat. The whine of the air conditioner is barely a hum, the hot air of the room pressing us together. The only illumination is a shaft of early evening light coming through the slit in the room’s blackout curtains.

Cal lowers his mouth to mine. The tongue that just delved between my nether lips now parts the lips of my mouth, fencing with mine as his hands roam my body.

It’s the same commanding tone he used when he told me to get in the truck, the simple comment stirring something in me that I didn’t even know existed, something manifest now as I part my thighs, crying out with something deeper than fulfillment as he pushes himself into me. His girth stretches me to the point of pleasure pain. I whimper as my legs go around him, sinking my teeth into his shoulder as our sweat-slick bodies begin to move, sliding against one another. I close my eyes, imagining our bodies as some kind of carnal machine, his cock a drill, plumbing and plumbing my well of pleasure. The sound of his breath, his moan…it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. I hug his slim hips with my thighs, the heel of one shoe spurring his back, urging him to fuck me harder. He heeds my wordless request, his hips moving like a piston, his heavy balls slapping against my ass.

“Come for me. Come for me now!” His tone is intense, the dark eyes more so. I can’t breathe, can’t speak. I can only fall into the void opened by the quaking climax. The shockwave that starts as a quiver becomes a strong ripple that milks his cock. He tenses just before I feel the sensation of his hot seed washing into me. My legs squeeze in time with his spurts. I hear a cry and realize it’s mine, realize that whoever is in the next room must have heard.

I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care. When it’s over and I come back to my senses, I will. But for now, for the first time in my life, I feel free.

Iris Tremaine is rich, sexy, beautiful, and way above my pay grade. But that’s not about to stop me.

The attraction is mutual and intense. Iris has never been with a man like me, a man who overwhelms her, a man who says and does things to her that her pedigreed boyfriends never dreamed of.

If her oil baron father finds out, losing my job will be the least of my worries. Roger Tremaine will never accept the thought of a common roustabout putting big, dirty hands on his little princess.

When Iris gets pulled into a plan to cover up the company’s poor safety record, she needs my help to expose the truth. Getting involved raises the stakes for both of us. When it comes down losing her inheritance or the rough love of the only man who’s ever given her real pleasure, which will Iris choose?

Variety is the spice of life and Ava Sinclair writes a little something for everyone, from dark romance to menage to kinky AF age play. But the one thing that is consistent in her books are strong storylines, alpha males, and strong women whose hearts and bodies aren’t given up without a fight.

Ava lives in southern Virginia, where she enjoys hoarding books, hiking, running, spoiling her cats, and spending time with her Eurasian eagle owl, Lucius.

The Daddy Treatment from Ava Sinclair.

Available Now

or FREE on Kindle Unlimited

You have to be a good girl, Sugar. You can’t just lose your temper. You have to mind me, understand? I’m always watching. I’ll always be here to correct you.” Her litany of “no’s” and “stops” have been replaced by soft, pained sobs as I direct harder spanks on the crest of her buttocks. I pull her against me as I continue to lecture her.

“The results will always be the same when you disobey, Sugar. I’ll always spank you.” I punctuate this with two smacks, one to the center of each cheek. She is kicking her legs; between them I can see the outer lips of her pussy have parted to reveal the inner folds of flesh. My little one is very, very wet. “Are you going to be a my good little girl?” I level two more hard smacks to the already red lower portion of her bottom.

“Yes!” She wails the word and I drop my hand.

“Do you promise?” My palm is resting across the seam of her hot little bottom. “You promise to control your temper?” I squeeze a punished cheek and she whimpers in pain.

“Yes!”

“Yes what?” Remember your lesson.

“Yes sir!”

“Good girl.” “And you’ll be honest with your daddy?” Her whole body tenses. Mine does, too. I hold my breath. It’s the first time I’ve referred to myself as a daddy. But that’s what I want to be for her, the daddy figure she never had. I want to be the one Sugar depends on. For everything.

I can’t stop my cock from pressing against her. She has to feel it. There’s no way she can’t. But she’s not moving now. She’s not struggling. “Do you promise to always tell your daddy the truth?” I move my hand lower. My fingers are just grazing the soft swell of her pussy. “Promise me, Sugar.” She emits a strangled sob and nods. I move my hand lower.

“Did the spanking hurt?”

She nods again.

“And this?” I slide one finger across the arousal-slickened folds of her inner flesh. Does this hurt?”

She shudders. “No, sir.”

Oh, god. Her answer has made my cock even harder. But a daddy dom must be patient. He must guide his little one, especially when she’s been so damaged. “How does this feel?” I move my finger to her clit. Her soft thighs clamp down on my hand, resisting, but then soften as she arches towards me. Her hands are clutching my lower leg. She’s moaning. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world. If I’m pushing her limits with my dominance, she’s pushing mine with her sweet submission. If only my sweet little Sugar knew how much control she has over me this moment. I’d give her the world if she asked for it.

It was desperation that drove me to break the law. When I wake up after sentencing to learn I’ve been forced into an experimental reform program, the last thing I expect is to be regressed back to a time in my life when I was fully dependent and vulnerable.

Dr. Eli Crane is commanding, strict, and uncompromising. While I’m here, he’ll be the daddy I never had. He’ll decide what I wear, when and what I eat. He’ll spank me to tears when I’m bad. I will be his little one, to use and touch as he pleases.

As my handsome guardian breaks down my defenses, I find myself craving not just the vulnerability and even humiliation of his treatment, but trusting a man who seems to know more about me than I know about myself.

But how does he know so much? When the secret of his knowledge is revealed, will it destroy the happiness of finally having the daddy figure I’ve always wanted.

Variety is the spice of life and Ava Sinclair writes a little something for everyone, from dark romance to menage to kinky AF age play. But the one thing that is consistent in her books are strong storylines, alpha males, and strong women whose hearts and bodies aren’t given up without a fight.

Ava lives in southern Virginia, where she enjoys hoarding books, hiking, running, spoiling her cats, and spending time with her Eurasian eagle owl, Lucius.

The Daddy Treatment from Ava Sinclair.

Available Now

or FREE on Kindle Unlimited

I keep my eyes on the gleaming black tile of the floor, drawing in a deep breath as I mentally prepare for what I will see when I look up. The first thing that meets my raised eyes is a table. A medical table. My heart pounds when I turn my head to see medical cabinets. It pounds harder when I see a man who’s obviously a doctor, and harder still when I see the big man beside him. The look of patience is gone from the stubble-shadowed face. “You should have obeyed me, Sugar.”

Don’t call me that. I can only scream the words in my head because they’re stuck in my throat when he closes the distance between us. “Dr. Brockman, if you would be so kind as to fetch me that chair.” My captor nods towards the only one in the room, which sits between two tall cabinet. The doctor wordlessly fetches it and carries it into the middle of the room. The big man settles into the chair, but even sitting he is still nearly eye level.

“I would have probably set the limit at thirty, Sugar. But I believe you upped it to fifty, so fifty it is.”

Fifty what? I’m confused, then stunned as I’m pulled forward to find myself staring at the floor. I’m draped over two sturdy thighs, then jerked against his rock hard abdomen by an even harder arm that winds around my middle to restrain me. I feel the cool air of the room on the backs of my thighs, then on my bottom as it is bared. He’s pulled my panties down.

Holy fuck. He’s going to spank me! I know it even before the slight shift in his posture, even before I glance back in horror to see his huge hand raised, to note the stern set of his jaw. The sound of his hand impacting the smooth flesh of my bottom resounds across the room along with my outraged cry. My first reaction to anything is anger, always anger. But trapped in this man’s grip, the anger is scalded away by the pain and panic as he layers burning smack on burning smack.

I buck wildly on his lap. I kick. I claw at his leg, at the floor. I would bite him, but all I can do is scream. And scream. And scream. I’m not a big woman. His hand nearly spans the surface of my bottom, and he aims the punishment with stoic force, landing the blows first on the crest of my buttocks then on the sides, then-worst of all- on the crease of skin where cheeks meet thighs.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” I wail the single word over and over, first as an indignant command then as a pathetic plea that dissolves into a childish bawl. Tears course down my face, running into my open mouth. Sweat adheres my shirt to my back. My throat is hoarse, my nose running like a sieve. I don’t allow myself to ponder the state of either my face or my bottom by the time I hear him say the word “fifty” and realize that he’d been counting the number of spanks I’d get, and like a stubborn fool I’d nearly doubled my punishment. My bottom is throbbing with hurt, each pulse generating a new wave of pain that seems to radiate out from the inner layers of my punishes skin. I can’t catch my breath when he raises me to my feet. I haven’t cried this hard since…I can’t remember, but I hear a child’s desperation in my own voice and through my tears I see my punisher’s steely eyes studying my tear-stained face.

“Breathe, Sugar,” he says. “Breathe.”

I still don’t want to obey, but what he’s commanding is a necessity and I know if I don’t comply I’m going to pass out. It takes me a few minutes to transform my shallow, hitching gasps to deeper inhales of air. Once I do, he reaches into his pocket for a handkerchief and proceeds to mop my face and dab at my puffy eyes.

“Fifty,” he repeats the number. “And understand, Sugar, that I can and will spank you just as long and hard if you disobey me. Show your ass out there, and you might get away with it. Show your ass here and it gets blistered. Understand?” I gape at him wordlessly. I’m not five years old, but he’s talking to me like I am. And with my bottom stinging beneath my skirt, I feel like I am. I reach for my panties, which are still around my knees only to have him stop me.

“No, Sugar.” His tone carries a tinge of regret. “We’re not finished. Not yet.”

I never had a daddy. That’s about to change. It was desperation that drove me to break the law. When I wake up after sentencing to learn I’ve been forced into an experimental reform program, the last thing I expect is to be regressed back to a time in my life when I was fully dependent and vulnerable.

Dr. Eli Crane is commanding, strict, and uncompromising. While I’m here, he’ll be the daddy I never had. He’ll decide what I wear, when and what I eat. He’ll spank me to tears when I’m bad. I will be his little one, to use and touch as he pleases.

As my handsome guardian breaks down my defenses, I find myself craving not just the vulnerability and even humiliation of his treatment, but trusting a man who seems to know more about me than I know about myself.

But how does he know so much? When the secret of his knowledge is revealed, will it destroy the happiness of finally having the daddy figure I’ve always wanted.

Variety is the spice of life and Ava Sinclair writes a little something for everyone, from dark romance to menage to kinky AF age play. But the one thing that is consistent in her books are strong storylines, alpha males, and strong women whose hearts and bodies aren’t given up without a fight.

Ava lives in southern Virginia, where she enjoys hoarding books, hiking, running, spoiling her cats, and spending time with her Eurasian eagle owl, Lucius.

King’s Bride A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy from Ava Sinclair.

or FREE on Kindle Unlimited

… the whole series is great to start with, but this one takes it to a whole new level.

It’s a HOT, Sexy, Wild ride full of Magic…

I had such big expectations and King’s Bride met them ALL and even more.

“Tell me of the act, Isla.” I ask quietly, embarrassed that others may overhear. Behind me, the reflected image of my sister smiles.

“Drakoryans are different from human men.” She leans down, putting her hand on my shoulders. “The fire of the dragon feeds their prowess. Each brother will put a cock between your legs that brings its own unique pleasure. A village woman marries a single man, and that is the man she gets every night. A Drakoryan bride? She marries several men, and each one is capable of doing different and wondrous things each time she’s with him. Do not be afraid, little sister. Open yourself for what they offer you, but don’t lose your power in the face of theirs. Your softness will unman them, both in and out of bed. It is your hidden strength. We know it. And they know we know it.” She kisses me on the cheek. “You’ll see.”

Her words flow over me like water, but I’m still too nervous to drink them in.

And now it is time. The ladies are ready to escort me to the King Bymir’s chamber, and they do so with a giddy, festive air, some running ahead trailing bright ribbons, others giggling as they fluff my hair and tell me how lucky I am.

The tunnel leading to the king’s bedchamber is wide, as is the massive door to the king’s bedchamber. I’m reminded again that this was the first Drakoryan castle inhabited by men who could not completely control their urges to shift. I’m also reminded that the man waiting beyond the doors can change into a dragon whenever he wants.

What woman wouldn’t be happy to be claimed by a dominant prince. I am soon to be taken by four.

Amidst a backdrop of war with the ShadowFell, the four sons of King Vukuris battle among themselves as dragons- not only for the crown, but for first rights to my innocence. One will be victorious on the battlefield. But all will eventually seek to conquer me in the bedchamber with their combination of skill and strength.

But there is another battle, a silent one, and it rages inside me. My memories as captive to the ShadowFell are returning – memories that bring pain and doubt of my ability to be a good queen. Will those memories drive a wedge between me and my princes? It is a matter of life and death for the Empire, for within me may lie the secret to defeat the enemy.

Variety is the spice of life and Ava Sinclair writes a little something for everyone, from dark romance to menage to kinky AF age play. But the one thing that is consistent in her books are strong storylines, alpha males, and strong women whose hearts and bodies aren’t given up without a fight.

Ava lives in southern Virginia, where she enjoys hoarding books, hiking, running, spoiling her cats, and spending time with her Eurasian eagle owl, Lucius.